


The Mark of Cain and Other Self-Harming Tendencies

by myfandomsareinfinite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Epic, Mark of Cain, Season 8 Spoilers, Season 9 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfandomsareinfinite/pseuds/myfandomsareinfinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different story line for season 9, starting during the middle of the season after Dean receives the Mark of Cain and Castiel steals another angel's grace. Original Character to help everybody get their shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Castiel Goes for a Drive**

Castiel sighed deeply, staring forlornly at the bread on the counter. Not only could he not get drunk anymore, but he also couldn’t eat. Well, he could. But it wasn’t pleasant. And right now he’d at least like the option of one or the other. He almost missed being human. Cas immediately disregarded that thought however; he was useless as a human. He couldn’t help Dean (not that Dean seemed to want his help currently), he couldn’t help his fallen brothers and sisters, and Sam would have killed himself if Cas hadn’t become an angel once again.

And Cas was doing something to help Dean, Castiel mused. Dean would want him to take of his brother and, of course, Castiel would do that. Sam was what was most important to Dean. Despite Castiel’s own regard for Sam Winchester, Dean’s wishes alone would have kept him there making sure Sam didn’t kill himself out of guilt and misguided, if noble, plans for redemption.

Cas wished Sam would let him call Dean though. He was worried about the hunter, and didn’t like that the Winchester boys were separated. It seemed wrong somehow. He could see it in Sam, despite the fact that Sam had always been the less co-dependent of the two; seeing Sam living without his brother made Castiel think of trying to live without your heart or lungs in a frail human body.

He understood the connection humans formed with others now, better than he had before, having had to experience it himself while missing his grace. He’d felt the pain of Dean’s absence, as well. But his grace did help to numb it. Sam had nothing to stop or numb his emotional and physical pain with every circumstance around him or any aspect of his life.

Speaking of which, Castiel could hear Sam’s snores from the main room of the bunker. The man had consumed several bottles of alcohol, giggled about Castiel being short, tried to call someone named Charlie multiple times, and started babbling about children’s books Then tried to steal Cas’ trench coat (which Castiel had felt an almost desperate fear as he clutched his coat away from Sam’s grasping fingers), and bemoaned Kevin’s death, which he, of course, still felt responsible for. It seemed however, that the alcohol had finally granted the tall man some semblance peace.

Cas knew Sam didn’t indulge in decadence as often, or in the same way, Dean did and it hurt him to see his friend suffering so. He sighed again and stood, meaning to retrieve and possibly attempt to drown himself in the left over spirits from Sam’s binge. The wooden chair scraped on the metal floor as the chair slid back. He took a step and then froze.

Someone was praying to him. His eyes narrowed, intensely focused on something far away. His brow crinkled. Dean? No, not Dean. Someone else…so familiar, why couldn’t he place it? He still was still adjusting to having a Grace. Then it clicked, breath whooshed out of his vessel, his eyes widened in both fear and surprise. Both were emotions he had come to know well over the last few years. But rarely this strongly. He swallowed thickly, a habit left over from being human. He glanced toward Sam, feeling guilty at leaving him alone. But the man could take care of himself, for just a few hours, couldn’t he? The niggling in his head spiked insistently and he shook his head. Sam would be fine. The bunker was warded. He couldn’t ignore this. He would be back as soon as he could. In the next instant he was out the door of the bunker and pulling the keys to his ‘pimp’ ride as Crowley had called it, out of his trench coat pocket and sliding behind the steering wheel.

He didn’t use a map, just listened to the voice calling him, once or twice he turned off into the wrong town and it would grow fainter. He wished he could just fly. He would be there already. Would have this over with. The suspense was more frustrating than the actual event. He sped everywhere he could get away with it, being able to sense the presence of other vehicles and their owners.

He was headed north. Farther North in this country than he had ever bothered to explore. This was a young country comparatively. He preferred the rich history of other continents. He wasn’t even sure Sam and Dean had ever been to this region. It was colder here and snow covered almost every bit of earth. Ice rose in hills and covered trees. He finally found the right town, the voice loud and persistent and almost impossible to ignore. I’m coming. He thought, teeth gritted against the noise, thought he wasn’t sure the voice could hear him.

He pulled his car onto a residential street and began walking, the trench coat keeping him warm. He couldn’t be more than a few feet away, he passed a yellow house on the corner and almost stepped into the street, about to cross the black top. He stopped, the voice was just behind him now, and he turned and approached the yellow house. There was a window in the door and no curtain over it. He could see an immaculate sitting room and a couch just across from him. Sitting on it, a pillow hugged tight to her chest was a young female vessel. Her eyes were focused directly ahead, un-blinking.

He opened the door, sliding the lock open with a thought. He closed the door behind him. The vessel turned its face to him, angelic glory blazing through the features as it looked at him. The voice in his head quieted and turned joyous. The relief in its essence was palpable and intense. Castiel almost reeled back against the door, his vessel’s eyes momentarily blinded by the angelic attention. Even if the consciousness wasn’t as loud as it had been when calling for him it was now more intrusive. He had turned off angel radio and the sudden onslaught was overwhelming, despite the familiar Angel in front of him.

The angel felt that, tried to pull back. His sister could see the effect she was having on him. She had long been more powerful than he. But this was her first time in a vessel. That was why she had called him. She didn’t understand. Didn’t know how to do this. He could sense this much from her, picking it out from the onslaught of her grace. The lights in this house had gone out with loud noises and left her in the dark when he had appeared and given her hope. She had lost the tremulous control on her power that she had been trying to create. She didn’t know how to hold herself within the mortal body. It was strong enough to hold her. He could sense that. But she didn’t know to keep herself within it.

He remembered trying to speak to Dean after pulling him out of Hell when they had met in the barn, lights sparking, his grace trailing out of him. He couldn’t contain himself then. And it hadn’t been the first time he had taken a vessel. The first time was incredible disorienting, he remembered. Going from the essence of the immortal universe to a insignificant mortal body was…..well, shocking was an understatement. And this was why he had been prayed to. This confusion and lack of control was what had caused his sister to call out to Castiel. He picked that up from the swirling power she was trying desperately to clamp down on.

Castiel, he had been her mentor before, would he play that role again? That was the main thought in her head. She couldn’t hear her brother and sisters as well, they were almost completely muted. She had never experienced this silence before and it terrified her. All of this was relayed to Castiel through their prayful connection, almost reaching the regular frequencies of Angel Radio with her intensity. They were close enough to each other that it was stronger than usual for them when in this form. At the same time his sister tried to refrain from hurting him, she unconsciously reached for that connection with a vise grip, strangling Castiel’s essence with her desperation.

The sorrow she was exuding into the connection had him grasping the wall behind him to avoid being crushed by it. The angel wailed silently in his head and shrunk, the human vessel curling up on itself, matching the way the presence inside was trying to hold itself back and together and alone. The most alone his sister had ever been and it was ruining her. But she would not hurt Castiel. Her inner voice was determined in this. Castiel came back to himself, realizing he was leaning against the door and struggling to breathe, he straightened and took a step towards his sister, she looked at him, vessel’s pale green eyes hooded and burning with tears as they rolled down her cheeks. A physical reaction she seemed to be unaware of.

He could still feel her angelic presence in his grace, soul and mind, but she was forcing it to mute itself so as not to overwhelm him. He had not been in Heaven for a very long time. He wasn’t used to the constant sharing of his siblings’ essence. She had never been cut off from it. This would require delicacy and finesse, not something Castiel had in loads. But, he thought to himself, he knew someone who did.

He reached a hand out and breathed out a name, “Leliel.” Her grace brightened, filling with joy and a look of rapture appeared on the vessel’s face.

_You remember me._

The coherent thought flitted through him as a vibration. It was more organized than the previous impressions thrust into him. He smiled slightly, trying to appear reassuring.

“Of course.” He intoned. She smiled, radiant and he realized her vessel looked even younger when she did so. She hesitated again, trying to grasp how she had formed coherent thoughts before, in the language of the country they were in rather than Enochian, taking the lead from him. She couldn’t seem to vocalize it, but after a moment the words formed in his mind.

_Will you help me, Castiel? I know…I know all that has transpired._

She gave him memories. His own and others of their siblings. Even those of the Winchesters and their friends and family, the last six years of the planet. All of his mistakes, leviathans, souls, amnesia, Balthazar, hallucinations, Metatron, everything that had transpired, there was something else, every time a memory including himself and Dean appeared. Some through even her own eyes as she watched him from her Heavenly perch. But the feeling flitted away with what felt like a smile and a feeling of being told not yet.

He felt the shame consume him again and could no longer meet her vessel’s eyes, the remembrance of his crimes overpowering whatever she was thinking about the Winchester and himself. This member of his family is possibly the only one he would show such weakness or lack of confidence in front of her. But she already knew anything. What was there to hide? He stood in front of her, knowing she could see all of his sins and felt much like he did when Sam or Dean looked at him with disappointment in their eyes. Warmth within his grace suddenly intensified as his sister caught the flow of his thoughts and the guilt consuming him. Leliel stood, the pillow falling to the wood floor. The warmth stopped his negative feelings in their tracks, refusing to let him wallow, instead filling him with light, stopping the blight on his grace from spreading.

_I know_. She told him. _So please, do not worry about hiding things from me or expect me to react the way our siblings have._

Sorrow again, as she recalled Raphael smiting him, fights with their other siblings, especially his most recent ones. But still she seemed to throw even more love at him, the warmth being transferred between them only growing, despite her obvious feelings of despair about past events that were mostly Cas’ fault if he was honest with himself.

_Will you help me, Castiel?_

He looked up again. She knew everything and still she wanted his help? Leliel was looking at him with fear and uncertainty. Despite everything she knew, she was just as afraid of him rejecting her as he was of her rejecting him. He reached out one hand, taking another step towards her.

She smiled hesitantly, took the step towards him and put her hand, too warm for her to be a human, in his and he led her outside and to his car. She followed him, trusting in her big brother to keep her safe and Castiel remembered when Gabriel had brought her to him as a fledgling, telling him he was to train her. She had just as much trust in him then, and though she had been meant for a higher purpose than just a soldier of heaven, she was humble and actively tried to apply all that Castiel taught her. She absorbed everything he said or did or felt with more zest than even the angels he fought with. Balthazar had laughed at their connection and Uriel had glowered at the young angel every time she tagged along to watch their training exercises with intense fascination, he didn’t understand why she should be there as it would not be here calling when she was grown. He hadn’t even understood why Castiel had been giving a fledgling with a different calling than his own.

She was not much changed, Castiel thought, despite the incredibly different circumstances. She had always been terrified of disappointing him, despite the praise he had heaped on her at the time. She always seemed nervous about doing something wrong. This had seemed to fade as she grew. But he could feel that same worry in her now. But, he mused, being millennia old creatures, he wasn’t how sure how much they truly could still change. So perhaps it made sense. So he led his younger sister to the car and she followed his lead as he buckled his seat belt and faced forward. She stared at him as he pulled away from the sidewalk, queries already appearing in his head about everything to do with vessels and the earth and for once, Castiel felt hope that he would be able to re-unite peaceably with at least this small part of his family.


	2. In Which Sam Gains Some Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC meets Sam and Castiel is understandably nervous.

When they reached the bunker Castiel pulled into the garage, deep underground. He felt fairly safe in the bunker but having Leliel with him made him more paranoid than usual. He didn’t want anyone to even have the opportunity to glimpse her. He stepped out of the car and led the way to the bunker door. He froze just before opening it and spun towards her, realizing something. She jumped slightly, still not used to their corporeal forms and her eyes widened. He reached out, slowly and pressed a hand to her sternum. He could feel the rapid pace of her heart underneath her delicate and overly warm skin.

His mind was open to her and she could see his intention to carve runes into her ribs, blocking her from angel eyesight. She forced her vessel as still as she could while he imprinted marks onto her ribs and black ink on her hip bone, warmth spreading through the innards of her young vessel as he worked. Castiel noted that despite how still Leliel was trying to stay, her vessel was trembling, almost vibrating with its violence.

He hoped her vessel could hold her. While it seemed the vessel was equal to the angel’s essence, it was not unknown for an untrained angel who had never inhabited a vessel to destroy it irreparably from the inside out accidentally. He would have to help her learn to control her grace before she burned out the girl whose body she had been invited into.

The sigils and tattoo only took a moment and Castiel remembered that he still needed to replace Sam’s demon banishing sigil. He swung open the door, leading a nervous Leliel into the bunker. He led her to the kitchen, where he could sense Sam. He had been gone about two days of earthly time. Sam would have recovered from the copious amounts of alcohol by now. He swept into the kitchen almost silently and Sam saw him in his peripheral, taking a swig out of a mug of what smelled like coffee.

“Hey, Cas, where you-“ Sam choked a bit on his coffee, slamming the mug onto the counter and springing back towards where a knife lay out on the counter. Cas raised his hand in what he thought was a calming gesture.

“It’s alright, Sam. This is Leliel” Sam stared at him, eyes darting between Castiel and what appeared to him to be a young woman standing behind him and staring back with her head slightly tilted to the side who apparently had no need to blink. Much like Cas, actually. It seemed to be an angel thing. Even Lucifer had done it to some extent.

“Who?” Sam struggled to calm his heightened paranoia and trust Castiel.

“She is an angel. We have been friends since she was born. She’s…safe.” Cas had hesitated. He had almost said trustworthy rather than safe. But he knew the dangers of trusting someone. Even if he had known them well in the past. But he knew she was fairly incapable of screwing them over any time soon. His eyes met hers as he searched for a word and Leliel seemed almost saddened as his train of thought.

Castiel thought to close his mind to her, but could not bring himself to. He had done so accidentally on the drive back and Leliel’s grace had seemed to waver and scream in numbness at the loss and he remembered that she had never experienced the deafening silence of being separated from their family. He knew what that silence was like. He could not make her face that. “Leliel didn’t take part in the war in Heaven nor does she side with any of the angelic factions organizing now.”

“Are you sure?” Sam’s voice shook slightly in worry.

“Yes. She let me…” Cas looked for the best words to describe the encounter, “read her mind.” Leliel continued watching them, pale green eyes glancing back and forth between them. Sam’s eyes flickered between them as Castiel turned back towards him. He swallowed, but seemed to take Cas’ word on the matter. He nodded at Leliel and tried to smile. He trusted Cas, even if he wasn’t sure about the newcomer yet.

“Nice to meet you.” He extended a hand towards the short woman. She stepped past Castiel and hesitantly reached for his hand. Their skin touched and a thousand sensations screamed through Sam’s mind and body; heat, cold, hunger, pain, love, endless symphonies, deafening silence, numbness, hatred, sorrow. The history of endless human souls flooded through him. He reared back, his purely physical form unable to handle it. Leliel jumped back too, not realizing he would be perceptive enough to note all the things within her, the encounter shocking her as much as Sam, she pranced backwards, dizzy. It was like he had sucked every memory of every human life she had chosen and watched over to the forefront of her mind and then into himself.

It took Sam a moment to come back to himself, even the memory of the encounter fading almost instantly, he couldn’t hold on to it, not that he wanted to. He was bent over, hands on knees, gasping. He looked up to Leliel to see a shocked and winded expression on her face, legs trembling as her hands gripped the edge of the table she leaned on. They just stared at each other wordlessly. Cas was blinking slowly, looking a bit ruffled. The shockwave of their physical touch had hit him as well, though not as fiercely as the other angel and Sam.

Slowly, hands coming around in front of her to face palm up in the universal I-mean-you-no-harm gesture, Leliel slowly stepped towards Sam, apparently recovered. He watched warily, but was perceptive enough to realize that she had not foreseen what her touch would do to either of them. From her expression he figured she had had a similarly shocking experience. She slowly reached a hand out and brushed just her fingertips against his forearm. The effect was much gentler, but still incredibly powerful within him.

Heavenly light seemed to fill up his soul, but it was far more comfortable than the thunderous crack of eternity he had experienced last time. Leliel did not share words, exactly. But the feelings and intentions she showed him left no question to her meaning. Castiel watched carefully, in case Leliel lost control and damaged Sam with her grace through the excitement he could feel within her.

She was impressed by how perceptive Sam had been and wished to be able to communicate more coherently. The fact that the boy with the demon blood was so sensitive to the angelic touch was fascinating to her, although considering she was in a vessel for the first time, it could just be her buzzing and confined grace flowing over more than it should. Castiel knew that the young angel was very excitable and a bit overenthusiastic occasionally. This could lead to some unforeseen circumstances. He wished to avoid any accidents when it came to his human friends. He watched carefully for any signs of her grace hurting Sam by accident, ready to intervene at a moment’s warning.

_I apologize, Sam Winchester. I have never taken a vessel before. The experience is…new to me. I am still adjusting to its limitations._

Sam forced himself not to jump at the voice in his head, eyes locked with Leliel’s burning eyes. She hesitated and then continued, Sam could feel it within him and the part of her she shared with him to communicate. He vaguely wondered why she didn’t just speak through the mouth of her vessel like the other angels.

_I wish for you to know, Samuel,_

She felt his internal shudder of disdain at his full name and quickly corrected herself to something that seemed to have better connotations within his soul.

_Sammy_.

Surprisingly, her use of his pet name didn’t irk Sam the way it normally did when anyone but Dean used it.

_That it is the greatest honor I have ever been given to meet you._

Her fingertips fell away, she took a step back and folded down onto one knee, her eyes still matching Sam’s gaze as she did so. Showing respect and honor, but not backing down. Sam liked her. He startled himself with this thought, but it was true. There was few people Sam had ever felt an immediate liking for. Especially when for all he knew she could be playing them. Then his mind clouded as the last vestiges of her angelic grace faded away. She obviously didn’t know what he had done. All of his mistakes. Ruby, Lucifer, closing the gates of Hell, Gadreel, Kevin. His chest ached as the last name went through his head. She couldn’t possibly know. He was not who she obviously assumed he was. The taste of coffee in his mouth soured and he stepped back, suddenly shameful, guilt ridden and awkward.

“Yeah, well thanks.” He turned away, going back to his abandoned mug of coffee and trying to ignore everything he’d just experienced. He hated himself now more than he had before. Because this pure being of celestial light was everything he’d originally thought angels would be. He had felt that, when she touched him. Years later it seemed his prayers and hopes were being answered. It seemed to good to be true. He would trust Cas. But he wouldn’t trust her. Not until she proved herself. He squashed his feeling towards her, picking up his coffee and sipping from it, back to the angels.

He thought back to when he’d first met Cas and the awe he felt and how that had been quickly dashed by Uriel and turned into something angry and ugly. He had felt his younger, more naïve self, yelling at the unfairness of the universe. Even God’s angels were not for humanity. Despair had swallowed him then.

But what he’d felt from Cas’ friend just now…it was all his previously dashed hopes back on his lap. If anything that made him suspicious of her. He frowned into his coffee, trying to ignore Cas murmuring quietly to Leliel as he led her out of the kitchen. He could feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. He chugged the last of his coffee, the sour taste refusing to leave his mouth, and headed to the training room, planning to take his self-hatred out on a punching bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? Please? But also be nice please.


	3. In Which Dean is a Self-Pitying Idiot But We Love Him Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean cannot rely on Crowley. (Shocker!)

Dean tapped the tire of Baby, impatience tightening his muscles and increasing his paranoia. Crowley had been gone the better part of 24 hours.

"Come on, come on" he growled between gritted teeth, under his breath. To say that Dean Winchester was on edge would have been putting it mildly. He rubbed his forearm consciously through the fabric of his shirt with the heel of his palm. The Mark still felt like it was burning, sizzling his skin away one centimeter at a time. It reminded him of his time in the Pit, with Alastair smoking away every inch of his skin before starting in with his knife on the muscle and sinew beneath.

Dean blinked away the image of Alastair’s leering face. Over time he had mastered the ability to repress his visions of Hell. At least during his waking hours. He pulled his sleeve up suddenly and violently, sure he could smell his flesh sizzling beneath the Mark that continued to settle into him. He had the thought that it was settling into his soul and not just his skin. He almost smiled at the thought. It seemed oddly fitting. Hell had claimed his soul again. He thought of Kevin’s burned out eye sockets. That was as it should be.

He pulled down his jacket and shirt sleeved, but continued to scratch mindlessly at it, mind wandering as the heel of his boot continued its staccato rhythm against the tire of the Impala.

"Your turn, Squirrel. I’m out of tricks." Dean jumped at the accented voice, cursing. He spun, ready to hurl obscenities at the demon, but froze at the King of Hell’s unnaturally disheveled appearance. The normally dapper meat suit was soaked to the skin, fancy suit torn and bruises and cuts peppering his skin. Dean only stared. It was strange to see Crowley in such a state. The demon picked a bit of seaweed from his shoulder with a look of loathing. Dean figured this must be a nightmare of the suave demon.

"What happened?"

"The same blade is protected. I can’t get through the enchantment. They were made to repel demons. But that Mark," he gestured at Dean’s arm. “Should keep you alive and get you through. Whereas it sent me halfway around the world and landed me on my fanny." Crowley growled out the last bit, looking thoroughly put out. Dean just rolled his eyes at the prissy hell spawn. He couldn’t care less about Crowley’s emotional state.

He turned his attention to the water behind him. It was dark and he could feel the cold radiating from the waves. This was not going to be appealing. In fact he was sure it was suicide. He had the sneaking suspicion Crowley was just trying to get rid of him. He threw a glance back at Crowley who was not preoccupied with trying to brush silt off his tie. On the other hand, he doubted the demon would go so far as to cover himself in filth in order to pull one over on Dean.

He eyed Crowley. “Stay here.” He jabbed his finger towards the ground for emphasis. Crowley ignored him, scowling as he pulled a piece of plant out of his hair. Dean took a heavy breath as he walked to the water’s edge. He pulled off his denim jacket, his shoes and his socks. He folded them neatly and set them on high enough ground to avoid the tide. The sand was rough and sharp against his feet, digging in, cold and uncomfortable. It reminded him of ice. He considered taking of his shirt and jeans and dismissed the thought almost immediately. They would weigh him down but he’d rather have the extra layer between himself and the cold water. Even if it was irrational and wouldn’t actually help him retain heat once he hit the black liquid. He could see a few ice spindles floating on top of the water in a few calm areas and shuddered.

He could feel Crowley’s gaze on the back of his head and gritted his teeth, squashing his paranoia and suspicion. It didn’t matter. He would either get the knife or he wouldn’t. He stepped into the water and his feet were immediately numb. He forced himself to keep moving, over thirty years of drilled commands kept his feet moving forward despite the jerking of his body, exaggerated shivers as his body tried to adjust to the frigid temperature of the water. His jeans were already dragging low on his hips with the weight of the salt water. He used breathing techniques to try to relax his seizing muscles as his feet fell away from the earth and he began to actually swim. He used his arms, which he could still partially feel to propel himself forward. He could see them too. Could see that the commands from his brain were being received. He was telling his feet to kick, but he couldn’t feel anything from his waist down. He couldn’t tell if they were obeying him.

His lungs ached with the cold. He felt like the slimy cold was sliding between his ribs and flooding the soft membranes. He tried not to think about things like frost bite and nerve damage as he headed out as into the water, waves crashing against his shoulders and impeding his progress. When he turned to check his distance he seemed to be maybe a mile out, he could only distantly see Crowley standing on the shore, watching him as a dark shape. His jeans were threatening to drown him. He realized he was gasping, unable to escape the sensation of his lungs freezing solid in his chest.

Somehow the Mark still burned hot without helping with the cold Dean was being drowned in.  If anything, the freezing cold, clashing with the sizzling symbol just created a greater agony when mixed. Dean took one last gulp of air. His lungs gave up. His jeans dragged him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback pls? But also pls be kind for I am fragile.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks lovelies.


End file.
